


let go of all that burdens you

by sunshineflying



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Louis Tomlinson/Eleanor Calder - Freeform, M/M, Mending friendships, Zayn Malik/Gigi Hadid - Freeform, married in vegas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 16:12:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10700511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: Written for the tumblr Married in Vegas fic fest. And because I wanted something to soothe my Zouis soul. Open-ended, so you can read shippy-ness or friendship-ness into it.Louis and Zayn cross paths in Las Vegas, and old wounds are reopened. What happens when their past and all the shit that's happened comes to a boiling point? And how does Louis handle it when the pieces don't necessarily fall right into place?A story of healing and growing and moving on.





	let go of all that burdens you

**Author's Note:**

> My first step into writing fanfic for this fandom in a while, and quite possibly my last. It's been titled 'swan song' in my Google Docs, at least...
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy. I found it very therapeutic and healing to write, and that in itself made writing this worth it. I hope that others find enjoyment in this piece as well.
> 
> Title from the song Feel Something by Black Coast & REMMI.

Louis wakes with a sour taste in his mouth and a churning in his stomach. He’s sprawled out on a bed - some hotel bed in some hotel somewhere, he doesn’t remember - and it’s a moment where Louis knows if he moves, he’ll be sick, but if he doesn’t move, he’s still going to be sick. Those moments are the worst.

He shifts in bed, trying to delay the inevitable, and rubs his hand down his face. He doesn’t notice it then, the titanium band on his left hand, innocuous in theory but so, so dangerous in reality. With a groan, Louis tumbles out of bed, his trackies low on his hips, his chest bare and suddenly exposed to the cool air conditioning of his room now that he’s shed the soft down duvet of his hotel bed.

The bathroom is too far away - Louis groans as his head throbs and his stomach lurches and he doesn’t quite make it to the toilet. He’s sick all over his hand so he uses his free hand to lift the lid on the toilet so he can retch out the rest of the contents of his stomach. The bile is acrid and makes him wince, and his eyes water as he heaves, his left hand awkwardly hanging off to his side, vomit dripping on the floor.

He’s not often sick this bad, but when he is, Louis becomes the sourest person in the world. It feels like ages before his stomach gives up, deciding it’s as empty as it needs to be for now. 

Louis stands and flushes the toilet with his clean hand, then turns to the sink to clean the mess off his hands. That’s when he finally sees it, the band glinting on his left hand, gross and stained with his sick yet still so shiny and new. Louis purses his lips and tries to stifle a gag, his stomach twisting all over again like he’s going to be sick once more, but he’s not. 

It’s just - he doesn’t remember being out with anyone last night. Not to this extent -  _ marriage _ extent. Briana’s back in Los Angeles with Freddie, and Louis had his gig with Steve in Las Vegas, but Steve went off to his place afterwards. Stan was out for drinks with him, but his girl is in town so it couldn’t be him. And Eleanor’s not even in the U.S.

_ Eleanor _ .

Louis just managed to repair things with her, to convince her to give them another chance, and this went and happened. Either someone’s playing a horrendous joke on him, or Louis married someone in Vegas and he can’t remember who. Or why. Or what would compel him to do something so absolutely vile to Eleanor.

His chest twists uncomfortably tight and after scrubbing his hands off repeatedly with the harsh bathroom soap that the hotel provides, he considers himself cleaned up enough. Louis dries his hands and examines the ring one more time before sliding it off of his finger and tossing it down on the counter. It hits the cool marble with a  _ clang _ , bounces a little, and then settles on its side with a soft clap. And then it sits there, taunting him. Reminding him what he’s done.

Louis goes back to bed. Maybe the second time he wakes up that day will be better than the first.

\--

> _ “It’s only for a week,” Louis coos, his hands sliding around her waist. She’s warm where he was cold, having just come in from having a cigarette outside and letting her dog Bruce out to do his business. _
> 
> _ Eleanor nods, her long eyelashes splaying over her cheeks as she looks down between them. This is still new to her, and there’s still a shyness there as she works past whatever happened between them last time, to start fresh now. “I know,” she whispers. _
> 
> _ Louis leans in, dipping down so he can plant a kiss on her forehead, and says, “You could come with me, though.” _
> 
> _ She smiles, but there’s a sadness in her eyes as she looks up at him. As much as it pains her to say it, she knows she has a point when she says, “It’s a bit early for that, isn’t it? I could go to the show, but you’re visiting Freddie. Having your time with him. We’re still… new. And Briana…” _
> 
> _ Briana doesn’t hide the fact that while she wants Louis to be happy, she disapproves of Louis introducing Freddie to anyone that isn’t going to be permanent in his life. Like girlfriends. Like Eleanor.  _
> 
> _ “That’s fair,” Louis nods. Eleanor is logical when he can sometimes romanticize everything now that he’s got her back. It feels like a fairy tale, after all. “I’ll miss you.” _
> 
> _ “You too,” she agrees, draping her long, thin arms over his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. She cards a hand through the hairs at the nape of his neck, just like she did when they were younger, too, and it sends a shiver down his spine. _
> 
> _ Their lips connect in a sweet, gentle kiss, Louis’s eyes resting shut, his whole body relaxed, love poured into each and every second of the kiss. He holds her tight to his body, so grateful to have Eleanor back in his life. It was a long road, and a lot happened between their breakup and now, but nobody’s ever quite understood him the way she does, other than maybe Zayn. Eleanor and Zayn: they were his confidantes, his go-tos, and when they both left him around the same time… it had been hard. _
> 
> _ So he’s got Eleanor back and it feels almost as good as having her and Zayn both back. Louis doesn’t have to worry so much, that he’s going to snap. He can tell the lads in the band things, but they’re not really a band anymore. Liam and Niall are still there for him, but Harry… for as charismatic as the world thinks he is, Harry’s actually shit at texting back. He changes his number a lot, too. And he certainly doesn’t email if he doesn’t have time to send a quick text.  _
> 
> _ Eleanor breaks the kiss and pulls Louis out of his thoughts, back to reality, back to his bags packed by the door. “You’re going to have a blast at the show and you’ll enjoy every minute with Freddie and I’ll be waiting right here when you get back,” she reassures him. “I’ll make us some plans, yeah? Maybe a show or some drinks with some others. I’ll see if I can free Liam from his baby for a night. Cheer you up, get that smile back on your face.” She cups his cheek with one of her dainty hands, thumb caressing his cheekbone, a look of fondness sparkling in her eyes. _
> 
> _ Her efforts put a smile upon his lips, and he nods. “You are so wonderful, El,” he whispers, stealing one last quick kiss. “That sounds great.” _
> 
> _ Pleased that she’s managed to put Louis in better spirits, Eleanor walks towards the door with him, grabbing her purse off the countertop on her way. Louis’s place is a mess, but she’s also arranged for a cleaner to come whilst he’s in Los Angeles, to clean it up a bit. She follows him out the door and that’s where they split. Louis feels a funny something twist in his chest as she gets in her car, having called him a cab rather than offering to drive him to the airport. She’s never liked the sadness and sentimentality that seeps into Louis’s bones when he’s at an airport. He can’t blame her much. _
> 
> _ Eleanor waves goodbye to Louis as she pulls out of the drive, Louis’s cab driver still loading his things in the boot of the car. He waves back, refraining from blowing a kiss, and then gets into the cab. “Heathrow, terminal five,” he instructs, melancholia hanging over him, over his words, over his entire mood. _
> 
> _ The driver nods and takes off, and Louis leans his head against the glass of the window, watching as the greenery of England blurs into a pile of thoughts in his head - Vegas, Freddie, Eleanor… everything. _

\--

The second time Louis wakes up in Vegas is marginally better than the first - meaning he actually makes it all the way to the toilet before he vomits again. His head is throbbing and he knows if he looked in the mirror he’d have bags under his eyes and his skin would be a sickly pale color. He knows his hair is a greasy mess, too, but a shower just sounds like too much work.

His stomach churns even as he flushes away his mess and sits back on the cool tile of the bathroom, bare back against the plain wall of the hotel bathroom. That’s when it catches his eye again. The ring. Glinting there on the countertop, reminding him of what he’s done.

So it hadn’t been a dream.

Cautiously, almost as though it could burst into spontaneous flames, Louis slides the ring back on his finger. The weight is strange, still. He’s never been a big fan of jewelry. He holds up his left hand, analyzing the ring for a moment, racking his brain for any sort of clues that would tell him who he married, and why. Or what would have possessed him to put on a ring just for fun. Did someone trick him into this, to make him panic in the morning? He wouldn’t entirely put it past Stan to do something like that, but… this ring looks nice. Expensive. Louis groans, frustrated with himself for making poor decisions even after swearing he was going to stop that once Freddie was born. He wanted to be a good example for his son, not who Freddie looked to in order to learn what  _ not _ to do.

Louis wants to crawl out of his skin, both from disappointment and all the grossness he feels after vomiting twice, and since a shower is out of the question, he starts to run a bath. He hasn’t taken a bath in ages. The hotel has a huge tub - deep, with a few jets - and there’s soap sitting neatly on the counter. Slowly, Louis climbs up to grab it and unceremoniously dumps the entire bottle into the bath.

His stomach does an unhappy twist and he thinks for a moment that he’s going to be sick again, but there’s nothing left to get rid of. Louis’s stomach is empty - though he thought it was last time, too - and now he’s left with nothing but the ache of disappointment blanketing him, stifling him. 

Once the bath is filled enough, Louis sheds his trackies and his briefs and climbs into the scorching hot water. He winces, but he knows he needs this, and the water will cool off by the time he’s ready to climb out, anyway. He’s got no plans, as far as he knows, and nobody’s tried to ring him. His phone’s probably dead, but the people who would need to reach him know which room he’s in. They could use the line in the hotel room.

Louis’s skin scalds pink as he sinks into the water, into the bubbles. He fumbles around with his foot to shut off the water when he’s fully submerged in the bath water, nothing but his scraggly, scruffy head peeking out of the bubbles. He feels ridiculous like this, taking a bath at his age, but it feels good. It’s relaxing. He needs to relax more.

Tipping his head back to rest on the lip of the tub, Louis lets his eyes drift closed. He’s not going to fall asleep, but he’s thinking, and sometimes he thinks better like this, when he shuts the world out. Louis frantically racks his brain for any hint of what he’d done the night before. He’d been sober for his performance with Steve - he’d  _ never _ perform whilst wasted, the fans deserve him at his best and he knows that - and he’d gotten a few drinks with Stan, but… he doesn’t remember going mad and drinking enough to make him this bad. The last time he’d been this drunk had been when Zayn left the band.

Like a boomerang, a memory flies back to Louis, disorienting him with how fiercely he suddenly remembers a moment from the night before.

\--

> _ He’s buzzing off his and Steve’s performance in Vegas. He’s walking with a bounce in his step, beaming so wide his mouth is starting to hurt. Stan’s there, and Stan’s girlfriend, and a few security guards flank them as they walk down the Las Vegas Strip. Louis couldn’t have hoped for a more perfect performance. He loves the way performing puts him on cloud nine, makes him so giddy and excitable. Eager to have a drink or two and have a good time, Louis doesn’t pay much attention to his surroundings. He’s used to not looking at the people around him, because he doesn’t want them to recognize him. _
> 
> _ But then Stan is sort of crowding Louis, trying to get him to turn back, or turn into some casino to their left, across the street, and it’s like the balloon is popped. All excitement is gone. Something’s wrong and Louis can’t figure out what. _
> 
> _ As Stan and the security guys try to steer Louis in a different direction, that’s when he sees him.  _
> 
> _ Zayn. _
> 
> _ Walking down the sidewalk towards them, his own security and friends flanking him, is Zayn, and they’re about to cross paths. Which is exactly what Stan and Louis’s guards were trying to avoid. _
> 
> _ This is the first time Louis and Zayn have seen each other face to face since he’d left the band - that’s how badly they’d hurt each other. Louis’s good mood is gone in a heartbeat, and that was before Zayn even noticed he was there. _
> 
> _ When their eyes lock, it’s as though the entire world stops. Louis resists all the shoving and coaxing. He just stands, face steeled and harsh, as he looks into Zayn’s eyes and Zayn looks back. Predictably, Zayn is the first to look away. He’s never been able to maintain eye contact during conflict, especially when he’s the one in the wrong. And he’s definitely the one in the wrong, according to Louis. _
> 
> _ He understands, but at the same time… Zayn could have handled himself better. And he could have not said some of that shit in interviews. And he could have not spat in the face of their friendship on social media for the entire world to see. _
> 
> _ But no. _
> 
> _ “Louis, c’mon mate, let’s go,” Stan urges again. _
> 
> _ Stan’s girlfriend stands nervously at his side, watching Louis and waiting to see what he’d do. When he realizes that Zayn isn’t going to look up at him again, not even to nod or acknowledge his existence, Louis sighs. His entire mood is ruined now, and he needs a drink more than he needs anything else. _
> 
> _ Quietly, Louis allows Stan and his security team to lead him across the street to a different casino, to some place Louis has never heard of. Zayn walks into the venue where Louis had just performed. Seething, Louis vows to destroy Zayn, publicly and angrily, if he catches wind that Zayn went to see the rest of Steve’s set, but had waited until after Louis performed.  _
> 
> _ Inside the casino, Stan tries to get Louis to play a game or two, to gamble a little, but Louis resists. He’s never quite gotten the appeal of gambling. Why risk losing money you’ve worked so hard for? Instead, Louis focuses on the drinks; he’s tipped the bartender well, signed her an autograph, and tells her that her job for the evening is to make sure that his glass is never empty. Dutifully, she nods in agreement. _

\--

The bath has run cold by the time Louis climbs out, his back aching from lying half-reclined against the hard surface of the tub. He hears his phone ding, but it’s a text, not a call, so he doesn’t rush to get it. If someone needs him badly, they’ll call. 

Call.

All Louis wants to do in this moment is call his mum. She’d know just what to say, even if he said something as stupid as, “I think I got married in Vegas but don’t know who I married.” Nobody else would know what to say, but she would. She always did. She knew how to make every situation better and brighter no matter what the circumstances.

With a heavy heart and pink, wrinkly skin from his bath, Louis wraps a towel around his waist and wanders back into his hotel room. He looks around; hotels have always felt so cold and empty, even when they try to be warm and inviting. The bed is a mess, though he always makes a mess when he sleeps, but he doesn’t remember unpacking his phone charger, and when he’s drunk he’s totally inept. But his phone is plugged in and charging, and his suitcase isn’t open which means whoever took it out of there actually closed it back up, so. Definitely not Louis then. He’s never that neat and organized.

It doesn’t make sense, though. If he was that wasted - wouldn’t his supposed spouse be wasted, too? So wouldn’t that mean they’d have been laid up in his bed, just as hungover as Louis was feeling?

The pieces don’t fit together and Louis doesn’t know how to make them work. It doesn’t make a lick of sense and it’s frustrating to him, because this is important. This matters. This is a fucking  _ marriage _ . At the very least, Louis wants to try to get a handle on it before someone else does, preferably before a tabloid does, because he doesn’t want his loved ones to find out like that. Though, granted, he doesn’t want anyone to find out, period. Not before he does, at least.

With a sigh, Louis sits down on the bed, leaning against the headboard. He rifles around the drawer of the bedside table until he finds the room service menu, and then shuffles through it, looking for the greasiest breakfast platter imaginable. He’s got to try to break this headache somehow, and this seems to be the only way.

Louis’s phone dings again, and he glances over. He’d forgotten about that other text message. Setting the menu aside, Louis unplugs his phone from the charger and looks down at the screen. He’s got a few emails, a few app notifications, and two text messages from Stan. 

> **you okay mate? crazy nite!**
> 
> **glad u 2 worked it out btw**

Stan’s texts raise more questions than they answer, but the last thing he wants to do is let on that he doesn’t remember a thing. He’d never be able to live it down, especially after doing something so cliche like getting married in Vegas. Louis has done enough stupid stuff in his life that Stan’s witnessed - he doesn’t want to add this to the list.

Trying to maintain an air of calmness and control, Louis just texts back,  _ yea, crazy nite! im good, u? _ and sets his phone aside. He needs greasy food and strong coffee, now, and he’s not going to put it off any longer. Looking through the menu, Louis decides on the full breakfast of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and toast, and calls it in. He orders a  _ lot _ of coffee with it, too - says he needs enough for at least three people - and then sinks into the bed.

He’s alone, so he tosses the towel to the side and curls up naked under his blankets. The titanium band on his left hand catches his eye again, and Louis lays there in bed, curled up on his side, examining it once more. It’s shiny and clean now, an odd weight on his hand. He’s not used to wearing rings, not like Harry is, and he doesn’t know what to make of it. 

More than anything, Louis just wishes he knew who had the other half of the pair of rings. If he’s gone and done something stupid like get married, he should at least know who his spouse is.

He panics a bit when he hears the lock on the door ding, and his heart starts pounding.

This is it. Is this them? His spouse? 

Sitting upright in bed, Louis tucks the blankets protectively around him, wishing now that he’d gone through the effort of getting dressed. There’s certainly no evidence that he slept with this person, which is good because he’s still technically got a girlfriend out in England that he very much cares about, but still. He’s naked, and he doesn’t know who is about to walk into his room.

Suffice it to say, Zayn is  _ not _ the person Louis expected to see when he looked up in the doorway.

Zayn’s expression says Louis’s shock doesn’t surprise him at all.

“Oh, good. You’re alive.”

Not the first words Louis expected to hear out of Zayn’s mouth the first time they have a conversation. He opens his mouth to say something, but that’s about how Louis feels - alive, but barely - and Zayn’s got a point. Louis groans and lays his head back against the headboard of the band. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way.

“Brought you some coffee,” Zayn says, holding up one of the two coffee cups he’s got in hand.

“What the fuck?”

Louis opens his eyes and looks up, moving so quickly his head starts to throb again, and he looks at Zayn like he’s grown a third head. Zayn walks over and hands Louis the venti coffee he’s got in his left hand. 

Right there, matching the one on Louis’s hand, is a titanium band. It looks newer than the other rings Zayn’s wearing, and Louis just knows. He feels ill all over again. He wouldn’t be so dramatic as to call Zayn his enemy, but they’re pretty damn close to that, given everything that’s happened. 

But Louis’s need for caffeine is greater than his desire to be petty and angry, so he takes the coffee, but stays firmly planted in bed.

“Your legs not working?” Zayn asks coyly.

“I haven’t gotten dressed yet,” Louis snaps. “Sorry, but my first instinct when someone’s coming into my private hotel room is to cover up, not just stand there, starkers.”

Zayn scoffs. So it’s going to be like this, then. “You’re the one who got so pissed last night you couldn’t even walk, not me,” Zayn replies. “Don’t take your hangover out on me.”

“You say that like you deserve my kindness or something,” Louis retorts.

Zayn’s quiet.

As Louis sips his coffee, the pieces start to click into place. Zayn’s exactly the type who’d keep things neat in a hotel room, because he didn’t want to go through the trouble of unpacking and repacking a million times. He took out Louis’s charger and kept his bags neat, and he’s the one who took off Louis’s shoes and got him safely to his hotel room. 

And for some bloody reason, he’s the one who’d married Louis in Vegas.

Zayn slowly sits down in the computer chair in the corner, watching Louis silently. He doesn’t know what to say. Louis sips his coffee, trying to forget that any of this ever happened. It’d be easier if memories didn’t keep coming back to him. And if Zayn would stop fucking staring.

\--

> _ Louis lasts in the casino for about half an hour and two drinks before he’s itching to go confront Zayn. To say he’s got a penchant for punishment in an understatement. He wants to see Zayn, to shout at him a little, and to make sure he didn’t wait to go see Steve Aoki’s set until after Louis had performed. _
> 
> _ Louis’s security barely has a chance to gather themselves and find Stan and his girlfriend as Louis storms towards the exit. The scowl is firmly planted on Louis’s face, and he’s mostly just grateful that nobody is trying to stop him. He’d taken them by surprise, which works in his favor. _
> 
> _ They have to sprint to catch up to him out on the strip, and they don’t actually get a chance to grab Louis and tell him to calm down until he’s walking through the doors of the venue where he’d just performed. He can hear some of Steve’s other songs booming throughout the place, shaking through to his bones. Louis holds up his wristband, proving he can get back in, and then storms to the VIP box where Zayn is inevitably sitting. _
> 
> _ Sure enough, that’s where he is. _
> 
> _ Louis is livid. Who gave him the right to be such a jerk? Louis doesn’t hesitate to approach him, to shove his shoulder, to catch Zayn’s attention as rudely as possible. _
> 
> _ Zayn startles at the contact, and when he sees that it’s Louis shoving him, there’s a flash of fear in his eyes. He didn’t expect Louis to come back for him, to say something. “What the fuck d’you think you’re doing, mate?” Louis asks angrily. _
> 
> _ One of Zayn’s security guys has stood up, but Zayn holds up an arm, signifying that he’s okay. At least for now. Zayn opens his mouth to say something to Louis, even though he knows it’s futile because he smells the liquor on Louis’s breath. Louis cuts him off. “No. You don’t get to talk. You think this is funny? Waiting until I’ve left the stage to come to the show?” Louis shouts.  _
> 
> _ People are starting to look now, and Zayn sees a few phones. He feels dread burrow in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want this to blow up in public. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?” Zayn asks. _
> 
> _ Louis scoffs. “No, you get to deal with this right here in front of everyone. What’s a bit of public humiliation, yeah? I mean, you clearly think we deserved that. That  _ I _ deserved that.” _
> 
> _ “Louis, come on, we’ve got to move this,” says one of his security guys. _
> 
> _ There’s someone from the club hovering nearby looking stern and having a word with one of Louis’s guys and one of Zayn’s guys. _
> 
> _ “Fine,” Louis seethes. He grabs Zayn’s jacket by the collar and drags him until he stands up. “Outside. Now.” _
> 
> _ Zayn figures that since he’s been found, there’s no use fighting. He follows Louis out of the venue, to the sidewalk where there are a few more people with cameras, a few really oblivious to the situation and begging for photos. Their security teams work together and shove them into an alleyway, an area they can block off from fans. It’s a total cliche, but Louis really just wants to have a bit of a shout at Zayn. Zayn needs to know how he feels.  _
> 
> _ “Louis, I -,”  _
> 
> _ “No. You don’t get to talk yet,” Louis shouts. “I have waited for this moment for over a year now.” Zayn, as he listens, lights a cigarette and takes a long drag from it. There’s clearly no getting a word in edgewise so he might as well find something for his nervous hands to do. _
> 
> _ “I don’t know what you thought you were getting at, slamming me online. I don’t care if you hate me in real life. Who the fuck cares? Like who you want to like. But you had  _ no right _ to take things so public.” Louis glares, Zayn winces. He takes two long, deep drags from his cigarette in quick succession. “And what you did to the other lads - you crushed all of us. And… it wasn’t easy for us either. I don’t care what excuses you have up your sleeve. You fucked up and I’ll never forgive you for that.” _
> 
> _ Zayn’s hands are shaking now, and he exhales, a thick cloud of smoke emanating between them, drifting up through the thick, groggy, stuffy air of the alleyway. _
> 
> _ Louis is breathing heavily, waiting for a response. His heart is pounding in his chest, the liquor making his eyes just the slightest bit unfocused. He stares Zayn down, unforgivingly, and when their eyes meet, the world feels like it stops - for better or for worse. _
> 
> _ “I know,” Zayn acknowledges, nodding. “And I’m sorry.” _

\--

Louis avoids Zayn’s gaze as he sips his coffee - trying not to think too hard about the fact that after all this time, Zayn still knows his coffee order - and squirms a little under the blankets. They’ve changed in front of each other loads of times, showered in the same public stalls at arenas, seen each other naked more times than is probably appropriate or necessary. But Louis doesn’t want to do that now. That requires more vulnerability than he’s willing to share with Zayn now.

Zayn seems to catch on to this, because he conveniently needs to use the loo after about twenty minutes of awkward, stilted silence. 

Louis leaps out of bed as soon as he hears the lock on the bathroom door click, and he pulls on some pants and trackies and one of his many hoodies. He tosses himself back onto the bed, halfway underneath the blankets, and that’s when he sees the ring again.

It keeps taking him by surprise, the weight on his finger, the glint of dark titanium against his fair skin. He still hasn’t figured out how to process this whole thing, the marriage that he apparently has with Zayn. It doesn’t make sense. Zayn has Gigi, and Louis has Eleanor. Part of him hopes to god that nothing leaked online, that nobody knows about this wedding in Vegas. He’s assuming that since he’s got no emails, no calls, from anyone important like security or Lottie or most of all, Eleanor, that nothing’s been leaked so far. That his secret is still safe.

This secret he has to undo before it gets out.

Zayn wanders out of the bathroom a few moments later and walks back to the desk where his coffee is still sitting on it. He takes a seat in the desk chair again and then eyes Louis for a moment. He noticed him looking at the ring, before Louis tried to hide what he was doing by shoving his hand in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie. “Yeah - weird, isn’t it?” Zayn asks.

Louis wants to ask how it happened, but from what he’s gathered, Zayn remembers all of the events of last night, and Louis doesn’t want to let on that he doesn’t. If Zayn has already realized this, he thankfully hasn’t said anything. 

The thing plaguing Louis’s mind is that how in the world this could have happened if Zayn was relatively sober last night? Why would Zayn do something so stupid when he’s clearly happier now that he’s ditched Perrie and hitched himself onto Gigi’s growing fame? And wouldn’t this city have learned by now to prohibit letting drunken people get married here?

Again, Louis doesn’t want to ask. For pride’s sake.

Zayn studies Louis and he says, “Everything you said yesterday. All the stuff you’re pissed at me for. I get it. And I own up to it.” He pauses. “I know you probably don’t believe me, but I’m sorry. And I know that what I did was wrong.”

Louis is quiet. He’s still not sure he wants to talk to Zayn. And he’s not sure he can do it nicely. So, rather than speaking, he just nods curtly and takes another sip of his coffee. Zayn fumbles in his pocket for a moment and Louis finds himself hoping that it doesn’t mean Zayn’s going to leave. Louis needs too many answers for it to be okay for Zayn to leave right now. He’s just also too proud to ask, so it’s a problem.

Instead of coming out with keys or anything, Zayn just pulls out a pack of cigarettes and gestures to the patio. Louis nods, climbs off the bed, and follows. This is their language. They can smoke together like they used to, and it doesn’t require words. And it’s something Louis needs, craves. The nicotine… he’s more than a little addicted.

Out on the patio, Zayn hands over a cigarette, puts another to his own lips, and lights his zippo. Louis perches the cigarette between his lips and leans in. Zayn uses his zippo to light Louis’s cigarette. The gesture feels far too intimate for Louis to ignore. His stomach twists and he feels a bit ill, but that’s probably just the cigarette. No matter how badly he needs them, they always leave him feeling a bit sick after a night of drinking in excess.

He watches as Zayn’s deft, tattooed hands put the zippo back in his pocket, and Louis takes a deep drag before he reaches up and slips a finger on either side of it, pulling the cigarette away so he can exhale. 

This feels familiar. He feels a little more comfortable now.

But Louis still doesn’t feel like asking questions.

\--

> _ Zayn lets Louis shout. He shouts about everything. About petty fights they had when they were on their Up All Night tour. Stupid things they did while recording Four. Conversations they had when Zayn first mentioned that he wasn’t happy in the group. Sacrifices everyone made for the good of the band. Everything. Louis shouted until he was blue in the face. Until he was sober. _
> 
> _ And Zayn was quiet the whole time. _
> 
> _ Finally, Louis prompts, “Well? What have you got to say for yourself?” _
> 
> _ That gets Zayn’s mind reeling a little bit. There’s plenty he wants to say - stuff he wants to tell Louis, the things that went through his head when he was at his lowest. The anxiety, the depression, the things Zayn fought with inside his head that he wasn’t brave enough to tell the rest of the band. The truth behind a lot of the things that Louis doesn’t understand. _
> 
> _ Instead, he just says, “I’m sorry.” _
> 
> _ Louis doesn’t seem to like that answer, because he scoffs and looks away. _
> 
> _ The alleyway is getting cold now. Neither of them has a cigarette in hand, so the white puffs in the air are their breath, the chill of the night circling in around them. The other side of the alleyway is quiet and empty, with no fans or security blocking them in. Louis starts to walk in that direction. _
> 
> _ Zayn doesn’t know what Louis expects him to do, so he follows. _
> 
> _ “Oi, you trying to say you care now, or something?” Louis asks harshly, stopping in his tracks. _
> 
> _ He’s itching for another cigarette, but his carton is back in his hotel room. Like a fool, he’d forgotten it. Which means he’s searching for the nearest place where he can get liquor, because the slight buzz he’d had is wearing off, and he needs something to numb this horrible feeling that’s creeping into his bones. The uneasiness he feels now whenever he’s in Zayn’s presence, or has Zayn on his mind. _
> 
> _ “I guess so, yeah,” Zayn shrugs. “I tried to see your set tonight, but I missed it. The crowds at the airport were terrible.” _
> 
> _ “Yeah right.” _
> 
> _ Louis turns and keeps walking, and Zayn keeps trailing him. He’s got to make this right. Whether Louis believes him or not, there’s an ache in his chest when he thinks about all the bad blood between them now, what happened to them. Zayn is truly sorry for what he’s done, but it’s not all one-sided. He’s just asking Louis to believe him, to know that Zayn was in a bad place, mentally and emotionally, and may not have handled everything like he should have. _
> 
> _ “Louis -,” Zayn says finally, reaching out to stop him as they reach the sidewalk on the other side of the alleyway. Tacky neon lights flash from all the buildings around them - restaurants, casinos, 24-hour wedding chapels. It feels like the wrong place to be having this conversation. “I really am sorry for how things went. I was… in a bad place. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” _
> 
> _ Louis is quiet. Zayn looks saddened, a bit pained, as his voice shrinks and he pleads, “Please, believe me.” _
> 
> _ It’s unnecessarily cruel, Louis knows this, but he sneers and says, “Alright then, prove it.” _
> 
> _ At those words, Zayn looks totally, completely defeated. He frowns, shrugs his shoulders, and shakes his head. “I dunno how you want me to do that, Lou,” he replies. His voice is still small, and he looks like he’s about to cry. It’s been a very long time since Louis has seen Zayn cry. “Whatever you want… just name it.” Zayn looks so tiny, so broken, as he says, “I’ll do anything, Louis. Let me prove that I’m sorry.” _
> 
> _ It’s not fair, really, how much Louis is expecting from Zayn and how little he’s willing to give in return, but he doesn’t see that, not yet. He’s too caught up in his anger. _
> 
> _ But Zayn’s demeanor, the way he’s left himself completely at Louis’s mercy, that’s starting to wear at Louis. Starting to prove that Zayn is genuine. Starting to make him feel like a little bit of a prick for how he’s acting. _

\--

Out there on the patio, Louis exhales smoke into the smoggy Las Vegas morning. Zayn leans his forearms on the railing and looks out at the sleepy city. It seems surreal all of a sudden. Asleep, dead to the world, lights flashing halfheartedly as the streets are almost empty, absent from bad decisions.

“We can undo it,” Zayn offers hesitantly.

Louis looks over. _ Undo it _ . He knows that’s the right thing to do, and they’ll have to do that eventually because of Gigi and Eleanor, and the whole fact that they’re not actually gay, but… somehow that stings anyway. He doesn’t want to just say goodbye, to be done. He sort of likes that they have this thing tying them to each other. It means Zayn can’t just abandon him again, and send him a few snarky comments after a few months of radio silence.

He nods though, because Zayn’s right. They’ll have to go back to the UK and file for annulment. Easy. Louis wonders if he’ll have to tell Eleanor at all.

He will. He has to. He’s trying full honesty in a relationship, for once.

Besides, Zayn’s made it pretty clear to the world that he’s really into Gigi. Louis had been at Perrie’s side, to help her through, at least through some clandestine text messages. He’d understood her pain, to a certain degree. He’d known how much it killed a person to be abandoned by Zayn. But still - when it comes down to it, Louis wants Zayn to be happy because in the end, Zayn’s a decent guy. 

Louis wants everyone he knows to be happy, because that’s how his mum raised him to be. He can’t spit on that legacy she’s created, no matter how tempting it is to be petty sometimes. Louis needs to be a light for the world, because that’s what his mum would have wanted.

Plus, she’d always liked Zayn, and Louis trusted his mum’s judgment more than anyone else’s, ever.

“Are you mad?” Zayn asks, pulling Louis back to the present.

He’s carrying the conversation now, which feels really strange given most of the night before was spoken by Louis, with Zayn just trailing along, making guilt-fueled decisions. In fact, most of the time the two of them spent together was led by Louis, because that’s how their friendship worked. Zayn followed. Louis led. They worked.

Louis shakes his head. He knows why Zayn did it, what was going on last night. It’s all coming back to him, the flash of sober decisions made before Louis hit the alcohol hard again, before he’d downed the bottle of cheap champagne and then headed on to another nearby bar, feigning celebration.

Zayn seems a little surprised by Louis’s response, and after a brief pause, he confesses, “Me either.” Zayn takes a drag of his cigarette and exhales slowly, taking his time before he adds, “I wanted you to know how sorry I am.”

This isn’t something Louis particularly enjoys - heart to heart conversations - but he and Zayn had them once before so why should now be any different?

There’s miles between them now, thanks to harsh words and snap decisions, but they can still mend things. There’s time. They haven’t missed their chance.

“I know,” Louis nods. His voice is hoarse, and he keeps his volume quiet. He leans against the railing, too, taking another drag of his cigarette. Zayn looks up in surprise when Louis adds, “I’m sorry, too.”

And that. Well, that feels a little bit like progress.

\--

> _ “You guys know we can’t do the wedding unless you’re sober, right?” the gruff man - or maybe woman? - at the chapel informs them as they fill out a marriage license. Their voice is rough and low but they’re wearing bell-bottoms and a floral blouse. Louis can’t tell if this person is being ironic or not. Plus, their nametag reads ‘Alex’ - not helpful. “You been drinking?” Alex asks. _
> 
> _ Zayn shakes his head. Louis copies. _
> 
> _ Louis smells enough like sweat and cigarettes that Alex probably can’t tell that he’s had a couple, but for the most part he’s sober even though he’d agreed to this genuinely stupid plan. _
> 
> _ Why the words had left his mouth, he’ll never know. “If you really still care about me, then prove it. Marry me.” It’s the first thing that had come to mind as they stood on a sidewalk with no less than three wedding chapels within view. _
> 
> _ Zayn, as he’d been doing all night, agreed. _
> 
> _ “Alright then, fill this out, give me the money, and let’s do this,” Alex says. Louis takes his turn scribbling down his personal info, and Zayn hands over a credit card. Alex swipes it, takes his signature, and then pulls out a box from under the counter. Stamped on the top in prison-like letters were the words “wedding kit: deluxe.” _
> 
> _ Louis knows he should feel embarrassed over this, but he’s just buzzed enough to see nothing wrong with it at all. Zayn thinks there’s a lot wrong with the situation, but says nothing. This is the price he’s willing to pay to try to prove to Louis how sorry he is. _
> 
> _ The chapel is as tacky as someone might imagine, complete with an overweight couple wearing sleeveless button-down shirts and too-short cut-off denim shorts to serve as witnesses. They’ve been watching weddings all night, finding enjoyment in being a witness for other people, observing them make the stupid decisions. _
> 
> _ The vows are pre-written and Louis and Zayn say them with very little decorum. Alex is starting to look suspicious, like they’ve figured out that Zayn and Louis aren’t actually in love. But so long as they’re not wasted, Alex is just doing their job, so really, who’s business is it whether they’re in love or not? Legally, only Louis and Zayn have to deal with the consequences. _
> 
> _ They exchange rings then, Louis shoving one on Zayn’s hand before Zayn slides the ring on Louis’s finger, his hand shaking just the slightest. He’s clammy, too. Louis tries to ignore that, to pretend he doesn’t realize the effect he has on Zayn, what negative things might happen because of it. He’s forgetting all the anxiety and depression and everything else Zayn has tried to work through, and instead just shoved more shit his way, for Zayn to deal with alone. _
> 
> _ “You may now kiss your groom.” _
> 
> _ Louis wants to roll his eyes and say that’s not necessary, but the last thing he needs is to cause trouble with Alex. The whole ceremony sort of feels like a big joke to Louis, and besides, it wouldn’t be the first kiss he’s shared with Zayn. Sometimes tours got tiring, and they didn’t feel like going out to get off. Louis has kissed all of the lads - it’s not a thing. _
> 
> _ Zayn, though - he looks earnest. Like this is his time to shine, to  _ really _ prove to Louis that he’s meant every single word of apology that he’s uttered. _
> 
> _ The moment quickly morphs into something so out of place compared to everything else that’s gone on that night. Especially when Zayn cups Louis’s face in his hands and leans in, gently, softly, until their lips meet. The tenderness of the gesture catches Louis off guard, and he stands there dumbfounded for a moment until Zayn pulls away. _
> 
> _ Their eyes meet, and Louis feels it in his chest, the remorse Zayn feels and the forgiveness that Louis will inevitably grant him. It feels like a patch, a permanent fix, so they can move forward again. _
> 
> _ Only Louis isn’t feeling all that emotionally healthy, so he laughs it off and lets out a cheer and reaches around for the champagne. He pops it open as Zayn signs the marriage certificate, and then takes the pen with champagne-sticky hands to sign his own name right next to Zayn’s. _
> 
> _ And that’s that. They’re legally married and Louis is laying on the alcohol again, and  _ thick _. Zayn signs. He’s seen Louis like this before, and he knows what’s going on, that there’s no stopping Louis once he’s started. Now, Zayn’s only option is to take care of him and make sure nothing bad happens. _
> 
> _ He’s going to protect Louis, because that’s what they did for each other - what Zayn’s been hoping they can get back to. If marrying Louis doesn’t prove that Zayn’s sorry, then taking care of him sure will. _

\--

Zayn looks worse for wear now that Louis gets a good look at him. The sun is starting to bear down on them in earnest now, and the patio feels too warm. Cigarettes done, Louis heads into the air conditioned hotel room, leaving the door open so Zayn can follow. He does. Louis has a million things he wants to say, but doesn’t know how to say a single one of them.

Instead, he just plops back down on the bed and reaches for his coffee. Zayn sits back down at the computer desk, in the cushiony black leather chair. “You look like shit,” Louis observes. 

Inwardly, he’s kicking himself, because that’s not how he wanted to lead this.

Zayn sighs and grabs his own coffee. It’s lukewarm, but he needs the caffeine. He chugs half of what’s left before he says, “We were up late, and I slept like shit.”

“You never sleep like shit,” Louis replies.

He hadn’t realized it at the time, but when they were on tour, especially in the later years, Zayn slept all the time. And sure, they were all tired and exhausted because the tours really took it out of them, but it was more than that. The rest of them didn’t sleep nearly as much as Zayn, and in retrospect Louis realizes it was the anxiety and depression. Zayn wasn’t coping with the situation the same way, because he wasn’t enjoying it. He was at odds with himself, with everyone around him.

Zayn really struggled, and Louis had been oblivious. He’s never quite forgiven himself for that.

When their eyes meet, Louis is fixing a concerned gaze on Zayn. He doesn’t know what to make of this new problem that he’s never known Zayn to have.

“You were proper pissed last night, mate,” Zayn explains. “Never seen you quite that bad before.”

He doesn’t outright say it, that he’d stayed up all night to watch over Louis, to be sure he didn’t vom in his sleep and do something stupid like choke on it. He’d made sure Louis made it through okay and when he felt secure enough about that, it was time to go get some Starbucks. 

Louis knows what Zayn’s saying, even when he doesn’t say it, and he hadn’t been expecting for them to reach this point so quickly. To get back to where they’d once been with so few struggles. It’s been awhile since Louis has felt this connected to someone, so in tune with them. He nods, embarrassed, and looks down at the ring again.

“Thanks,” he offers. The time to be a prick has come and gone. It’s time for honesty, now. “I’m sorry I got so bad. I dunno why I felt like it.”

“You were in one of your moods,” Zayn says, this time not using any sort of subtext. He’s got to say it. “You’ve got to stop doing that,” he advises, his words harsh but his tone so soft and smooth, just like how he sings sometimes. 

Louis looks up again and their eyes meet. Zayn and his bloody eyelashes are ridiculous and Louis hates the ease with which Zayn can look so good. He’s always envied him for that. 

Nodding, Louis says, “I know. I got reckless, and I’m sorry.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Zayn observes.

Louis frowns. How had he known that? This time, Louis had taken careful measures to ensure it didn’t get out in the media, going to clubs with Stan and having a good time wherever he happened to be - usually it was on nights he was in LA but wasn’t with Freddie. He didn’t like being without someone from his family nearby. Losing his mum had done a number on him.

“Well, a lot of shit has happened lately,” Louis replies.

He doesn’t mean to sound so snarky, but he does anyway, and his wince mirrors Zayn’s. The room is quiet.

“Sorry,” whispers Louis. “I -,”

“It’s fine.”

The room is awkward now, silence creeping in to surround them, suffocate Louis, make him feel like there’s more he ought to say. There’s a lot he  _ does _ want to say, but he doesn’t know how to get the conversation started.

Zayn doesn’t know what to say either, because he’s already put it all out there. Once last night, as Louis was getting properly wasted at the chapel, and several times in the past when he was trying to get Louis to understand what was going on in his head. Zayn hated trying to put words to all the turmoil he went through, all the shit he had to try to make sense of in his own head before he tried to get it into someone else’s. He feels like he’s at a dead end, where Louis has to show him the light or they’re just going to get stuck here forever.

“I forgave you, y’know,” Louis says finally. “A while ago.”

“For the Twitter bollocks?” Zayn wonders.

“All of it,” Louis replies. He hesitates before he says, “I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with when I’m annoyed. And… I was being pretty fucking selfish.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Wasn’t selfish to want me to stay though,” he says. “I felt selfish for wanting to go.”

“Weren’t you?” Louis asks. “We only had a few months to go.”

Zayn’s quiet. There it is. He knows he could have probably stuck it out until the end like the others did, but he shakes his head. “It would have gone on longer than I could’ve handled,” Zayn says. His voice is so soft Louis has to strain to hear it. “I couldn’t have done it. It was already so much, for so long.”

It’s not really because of the music - he’s told the public it is, but it’s so much more. Zayn battled a lot of demons inside his head for a long time. Only Louis knew about them for a while. Liam once Louis told Zayn that he had to really open up and talk about it. A few weeks before he’d left the band, Zayn sat down and explained it to everyone.

Niall had clung to Zayn, arm around his shoulders, his free hand up to his mouth where he’d chewed his nails until they were bloody and sore. Harry had genuinely cried.

Zayn’s demons, his depression, all the shit he’d been dealing with and coping with, all the unhappiness - it had bubbled up then. Once he’d started talking, he hadn’t been able to stop. Louis had sat in the back of the room that day, his expression dark, his lips pursed tightly closed. He hadn’t said a word. Everyone had looked at him, expecting him to be the voice of reason, the advice giver, the leader. That had always been Louis’s role.

But he couldn’t do it. Not when it meant saying out loud that the best decision was for Zayn to go and duck out early.

Louis, selfish as ever, had kept his mouth shut and made Zayn say that all out loud on his own. It fucking broke them all, but nobody more than Zayn. Louis didn’t want Zayn to go, no matter what was going on inside his head. He wanted him to stay because they were best friends, and that’s what best friends did. They didn’t leave when things got tough.

It had taken a lot for Louis to realize that things were much bigger than a schoolboy attitude of friendship. 

Nodding, finally able to acknowledge that Zayn had done the right thing, and Louis had been the one to make a right bollocks of it, Louis says, “I know.” He takes a deep breath and meets Zayn’s eyes. “You needed to go, and I get that.”

Silently, Zayn thanks Louis. That’s all he’d needed to hear. Those eight simple words took such a weight off of his chest.

Louis patted the bed next to him, the ring on his hand catching his eye yet again. “C’mere. I slept, now it’s your turn.”

“It’s daytime, Lou.”

Louis smirks. “That’s never stopped you before.”

It’s hard to tell whether that’ll fall flat or not, but Louis goes for it anyway. He remembers sleeping away afternoons because of jet lag - they’ve all done it. It’s something so few people have shared in such a capacity as the five of them. Sometimes Louis likes having those unique experiences, tying him to the other four for all of eternity.

“Get some sleep. I’m gonna call Bri, check up on her and Freddie, make sure it’s still good for me to visit tomorrow,” Louis instructs. He points to the bed as he stands. “Sleep.”

He doesn’t let Zayn argue. Louis just picks up his mobile, grabs his carton of cigarettes, and walks back out onto the deck. He knows Zayn will be fast asleep by the time he’s finished his phone call.

\--

> _ Nervous and jittery, Louis stands backstage. He fixes his fringe, and wiggles his toes in his shoes, and he takes a deep breath like his mum told him to. He can’t believe they’re doing this. Competing in the X-Factor final.  _
> 
> _ That they made it this far. _
> 
> _ Zayn stands at Louis’s side; he’s been there a lot lately, a buzz, a constant, an anchor for when things feel like they’re floating towards the clouds. Louis worries he’s going to crash and burn, but Zayn - Zayn makes him feel like that won’t happen. Like things are going to be okay and stay okay because the two of them are like peas in a pod. _
> 
> _ “Are we gonna be okay?” Zayn asks worriedly. Louis hears the way Zayn’s voice hitches mid-sentence.  _
> 
> _ Louis, as is his style, meets the question with a physical gesture. He slides an arm through Zayn’s, hooking them together. “I dunno,” Louis confesses. _
> 
> _ Their voices are hushed; Liam and Harry and Niall are all talking about something - one of the other acts - so they don’t hear Louis and Zayn at all. _
> 
> _ “What if this is it? What if we lose and we’re done?” Zayn wonders. He’s scared of leaving these lads. The bonds they’ve already made as a group - Zayn’s never been this close to anyone, ever before. Except his family of course, and even then, he’s not so sure he can make that distinction now that Louis is in his life. _
> 
> _ Louis shakes his head. “That’s not going to happen,” he whispers back. “We work too well together.” _
> 
> _ “We could still lose,” Zayn reminds him. _
> 
> _ Louis stops hooking his arm through Zayn’s in favor of giving him a massive hug. “Here’s the thing, Z,” he says as Zayn hugs him back. “I’m impossible to get rid of. Even if we lose, you’re stuck with me forever.” _
> 
> _ Zayn laughs a little, but the nerves still shine through. Louis hears them in his voice, feels them in his muscles. He’s so tense, and he’s shrinking against Louis as they wait for their chance on stage. He feels ill with it.  _
> 
> _ “I mean it,” Louis insists, looking up at Zayn. “You’re all stuck with me, but you most of all. You  _ get _ me.” _
> 
> _ “You get me, too,” Zayn repeats, his voice especially quiet. He doesn’t admit stuff like that too often. He’s not used to baring his soul to people, but being open with Louis is just easy. He has no idea how that’s going to change in the years to come. _
> 
> _ “Well then, perk up,” Louis says, looking up just enough to poke Zayn’s cheek. “You’re stuck with me, we’re stuck with them, we’re going to go out there and do our best…” Louis aches, being this positive for the others, the younger ones. He’s the leader. He’s got to be strong. Vulnerability can wait for another day. “And that’s that.” _
> 
> _ Zayn laughs. Like really laughs, this time. _
> 
> _ Louis feels like he’s just moved mountains. _

\--

When Zayn wakes up, there’s a weight in the bed next to him, someone tamping down the blankets, and he glances over to see that Louis has decided to take a nap, too. Zayn’s curled up underneath the duvet and Louis is unceremoniously thrown on top of it. He’s snoring a little, lying there on his stomach, mouth dropped open. Zayn sees the ring on Louis’s left hand, that he’s still wearing it. This is still something they’ve got to deal with.

Zayn coughs and rolls over, tugging the blankets hard, jostling Louis awake. He grumbles and moves a little, but just lays on his side facing Zayn. Zayn lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Been awhile since we’ve done this,” Louis mutteres.

Zayn’s quiet. He really just wants to sort this out, but doesn’t know what to say. They’ve sort of said it all while simultaneously saying nothing at all. “I miss it sometimes,” Zayn offers. He misses a lot of things that they used to do together, legal or not. 

He’s said it before, but Zayn knows it has to be said again. He’s got to just get this ball rolling, get the hard conversation started, make things start to work themselves out, piece by piece.

“I’m sorry.”

Louis rolls onto his back. He doesn’t want to look Zayn in the eye when they have this talk. It’s easier for both of them to just talk to the ceiling, to let the words hang over them. “Look - I appreciate that. But…” Louis takes a deep breath. “I dunno if that’s enough. We were gutted when you left.”

“We?”

The silence hangs between them. Louis knows what Zayn’s implying. But they’ve been honest this morning, and he doesn’t want to fight. He’s too exhausted to fight with Zayn anymore. It doesn’t accomplish anything, doesn’t even give Louis the smug satisfaction it used to give him, when he was younger and more immature.

“I,” he amends. “ _ I _ was gutted when you left. Fucking - just -,” he struggles to find the words. “Wrecked. Destroyed. A fucking mess.” It’s dramatic, he knows, but it’s how he’d felt - how he sometimes still feels when the world feels too big and the room feels too small, when he used to turn to Zayn and now he can’t anymore. Finally, his voice soft and defeated, Louis says, “It’s going to take a while for me to forget all this.”

“I get that.”

Louis looks up at Zayn. “It’s never going to be the same as it was.”

As horribly melodramatic as it sounds, Louis has a point. Zayn knows it. They missed crucial moments in each other’s lives. They didn’t see eye to eye on things. The person Louis used to trust more than anything - the mate that he’d been sure he’d name as his first child’s godfather, for Christ’s sake - he’s a stranger to him now. He’s never going to be that person to Louis that he once was. Their paths crossed for a while, and then diverged, headed in two completely different directions.

They can rebuild the respect, create some salvaged, mended version of their friendship, but it’s never going to be what it once was.

Nodding, Zayn says, “I know.” Desperately, recklessly, he adds, “I’ll take what I can get. Anything you’ll give. We can like… start something new.”

Louis meets Zayn’s gaze and nods. That -- well, that he can work with.

“Okay,” Louis agrees.

And that’s that. Zayn nods, looking satisfied. They haven’t said much, but it feels like progress.

Quietly, Zayn echoes, “Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, and goodnight.


End file.
